Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  After the lady was below, Oarly pointed out a few more bodies to the crew. “Them snapping marsh monsters are bloated and sleeping,” the dwarf surmised. “I think the arrow in that last body was fletched in Dakahn.”

  “I seen one with inked skin,” Grommen called from the back of the ship, where he was scanning the marsh behind them, making sure nothing was following. “Tattooed from head to... Well, what was left of the bastard was covered with the ink.”

  Captain Tyne had the best view from the wheel deck. He put his hand on his brow and looked around them. “It was no small battle that put this much death in the river,” he said as he reached for his brass looking glass.

  “There,” Oarly said, pointing. “One of Queen Willa’s men, a Blacksword.” He was a little drunk on Wyndall’s liquid fire, as he had been for days. There was an unopened keg of the stuff lashed on the deck, and several flasks stashed in his gear.

  “I hope we’re not too late to be of aid to King Jarrek,” Lord Gregory said after the hatch door closed behind his return.

  “We’ll be able to see Seareach soon,” Captain Tyne said, as he peered to the north through the looking glass. “We’ll be able to tell more about the situation then, assuming of course that this weather holds off.”

  A turn of the glass later Captain Tyne asked Lord Gregory to come up and have a look. The sky had darkened considerably, but it hadn’t begun to rain yet. That it would rain, was inevitable.

  When he looked, Lord Gregory couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at what he saw.

  “He’s held the passage, man,” Gregory observed loud enough for Oarly and Grommen to hear. “It cost a lot of men, but they held the passage.”

  “A hell of a battle had to take place there,” observed Tyne. “Look at the corpses.”

  “Aye,” Lord Gregory agreed, scanning the Wildermont shore northward. There were jams of bodies bobbing like pale white logs caught against the far shoreline. He paused and twisted the outer casing of the brass tube to focus the lenses. “What in all the hells?” He took the device from his eye and polished its lens with the hem of his shirt and looked again. “By the gods, there are breed giants roaming among Jarrek’s men.” Lord Gregory swung the looking glass southward and, after a moment, found what he was looking for. “The Dakaneese are still positioned near the mouth of the pass, but they don’t seem to be preparing for anything.”

  “Licking their wounds and waiting for reinforcements,” said Tyne. “That’s how I see it.”

  “Aye,” Lord Gregory agreed. He looked again at the breed giants mingling with all the human soldiers on the Wildermont side of the pass. He had bloodied his sword well against them a decade earlier, at the Battle of Coldfrost. He didn’t know what to make of it.

  Oarly came up the ladder, his curiosity getting the better of him. He’d been listening to the conversation and wanted to have a look for himself. “May I?” he asked.

  “Please do,” Lord Gregory replied. “There are some of your people among Jarrek’s men as well.”

  “My people?” Oarly asked with narrowed brows. He took the tube from the Lion Lord. “That’s impossible,” he said as he put it to his eye.

  “Not impossible. I saw them,” Lord Gregory pointed his finger to the north. “Look for the breed giants gathered round the bonfire, you see them?”

  “I see the wild looking bastards,” Oarly answered.

  “Now take a look just to the left of them, you’ll...”

  “By Doon!” Oarly did a hop-skip in place without moving the glass from his eye. “The Lion’s got it right. Not just a few of them.” Oarly looked at Lord Gregory, then at Captain Tyne. “You know what this means?” he asked them excitedly.

  Neither Lord Gregory nor Maxrell Tyne had any idea what it meant. Tyne shrugged because Oarly was about to tell them whether they cared to know or not.

  Not even the loud pattering of the fat raindrops that started to fall could dampen the dwarf’s enthusiasm. The dwarves of Doon had not only returned to the surface of the land, they’d come to Wildermont to fight with the Red Wolf.

  Chapter Forty – One

  The rain limited visibility. Even from the great height of Locar’s newest wooden structure, a monstrosity of a gate tower, it was hard to see for more than a few hundred feet in any direction. The open space in the tree trunk wall, where the actual gate would eventually be, was wide open. Through it ran the Midway Passage, a well packed road that stretched across Westland from east to west. In this weather, Sorvich was sure that no one would be traveling in or out of the city. Still, he looked on vigilantly from the tower platform, even though his fur was saturated with rain. Sorvich, had a huge swivel mounted dragon gun at his disposal, but he never once thought to look up.

  Shaella urged Vrot straight to the commandeered building where the Lord of Locar normally ruled his roost. The stone structure gurgled and hissed, and slowly began to melt away after Vrot drenched it in his acidy spew. A few screams resounded through the rainy gloom as those who were out working in the weather caught sight of the sizable black dragon sitting in the middle of Locar’s main thoroughfare. It didn’t take long for a full alarm to be sounded. Shaella sat patiently on Vrot’s back, waiting to see what sort of action would be taken. While she waited, she let Vrot satisfy his hunger on a couple of breed that came close enough for him to reach. Before long a somewhat organized group of breed giants, with a few humans thrown in the mob, cautiously approached from down the street. A few of them sported her lightning star on their leather service armor. Two of the breed carried large crossbows like the one Flick warned her of. The others carried axes or swords. Upon seeing that it was Queen Shaella sitting on the dragon’s back, about two thirds of the group bowed to her.

  “Where is Lord Bzorch?” she yelled through the drizzle.

  One of the braver breed giants, one who was loyal to Bzorch and his cause, stepped forward. He didn’t lower the dragon gun he held. “He’s not here,” the breed yelled back.

  Shaella sighed. The breed giants were like pack animals. They all followed the alpha male. In this case they were about to start following the alpha female or pay the price for not doing so. “I can see that, fool.” With a thought she had Vrot blast the breed with his corrosive breath. The spear launched out of the breed’s weapon at an odd, harmless angle, and in seconds the screaming half-beast was nothing more than a gory puddle in the street.

  Most of the onlookers walked quickly away then. Those who stayed lowered their weapons and stepped back cautiously.

  Another breed giant came forward holding both of his hands up to show that he was unarmed and suppliant. He bowed graciously then spoke. “Your Highness, I am Lord Bzorch’s hand. My name is Cozchin. The Lord of Locar is across the river in what used to be Wildermont, trying to expand the limits of the city.” He wiped the rain from his snouted face and tried to disguise his fear. With his primitive features, the expression looked more like a snarl.

  “I know what Bzorch is doing,” she yelled at them all. “If you people didn’t know, the Dakahneese are our allies, not our enemy, yet Bzorch seems to want to help King Jarrek defend against them.” She glared at those who remained. “How did they cross the river?”

  “I assure you,” Cozchin groveled. “I... We had no idea what he was intending to do while he was...”

  “How! Did! They! Cross! The river?” Shaella screamed each word. Vrot’s head shot down and stopped only inches from Cozchin’s face. Hot fumes vented across the breed giant out of nostrils that the breed could have fit his fists into. Cozchin nearly choked on the rancid stench. It was all he could do to keep from running away.

  “A barge,” Cozchin answered quickly, trying to get the words out before he retched. “They turned a lumber barge into a ferry.”

  “Where?”

  “At the old bridge.”

  “You, you, and you,” Shaella pointed out three of the breed giants that hadn’t bowed or bothered to lower their weapons after recognizing her. “Ste
p forth.”

  After they hesitantly obeyed, Shaella motioned for Cozchin to step away. He didn’t wait to comply. His footfalls made large splashes on the wet road as he jogged a dozen paces to the side.

  “Bow,” Shaella commanded the three before her. “I had you people destroy the bridge for a reason,” she said when they did. “I am your queen. If it were not for me, and me alone, you would still be freezing to death and eating each other in Coldfrost where King Balton left you.” She pumped a fist high and Vrot reared up and let out a deep rumbling growl. “How easily you forget my kindness. How easily you turn on me!”

  Vrot snapped his jaws down on one of the breed that was kneeling before them and shook him violently. Before the other two could get up and move away the dragon tossed the mangled corpse from his jaws and blasted them with his acid breath. As they writhed and gurgled into bubbling puddles, Shaella continued her tirade. “This is how I repay treachery. Cozchin is your lord now. Bzorch will not survive this day. Anyone who crosses that river has crossed me, and you can see right here what fate that will bring you.” She spat at one of the puddles.

  As if the gods meant to punctuate her authority, a crackling streak of lightning split the sky behind her, then thunder rumbled through the air. The people looked on in terror from behind lifted curtains, and between buildings. Vrot took one long smooth stride then leapt back into flight. He didn’t go far. Shaella had the menacing black dragon blast the ferry with his breath and watched until it sank out of sight. Then she had him tear down most of the tree trunk wall that had just been built around the city. It was only by some great stroke of luck that Sorvich, and the new gate tower, with its big swivel mounted dragon gun, didn’t come crashing down with it.

  ***

  Sixty-four of the breed giants that survived the battle at Seareach were trudging north through the rain. They were less than a quarter day’s march away from the makeshift ferry that would take them home to Locar.

  Only Bzorch and his personal dragon gun crew stayed behind. The breed lord was enjoying immensely the height of the pedestal the human fighters put him on. He had to admit, watching breed giants yank the hellcat out of the sky, and then him rushing in and pounding it to death, had to have been an awesome sight to behold. The arrival of the dwarves of Doon from the nooks and crannies of the Wildermont foothills had been amazing too. And now that the position at Seareach was fortified to the hilt, the mood in Low Crossing was celebratory.

  Amid the drinking and storytelling and all the bonfire bravado, Jarrek was still busy making plans. He wanted Bzorch to be a part of them, so he asked the breed lord to stay around. The unexpected arrival of the Lion Lord and his party created a venomous tension. King Jarrek’s captains and the dwarves worked hard to keep the old enemies at a distance. Neither Lord Gregory nor Bzorch seemed ready to forget the bloody days they spent warring out on the tundra. Little did Bzorch know that the sixty-four breed giants he’d sent back to Locar were not going to make it. Their orders had been to prepare for Shaella’s retaliation, but Shaella and Vrot never gave them the chance. They showed them no mercy when they swooped down out of the sky and eradicated them.

  The breed giants fought tooth and claw, as best they could, against the dragon. One of them managed to get a shot off with the dragon gun. The spear hit Vrot in the hind quarter, but the young black wyrm used his corrosive breath to eat through the attaching line before it could pull taut. Queen Shaella responded by casting a spell that blasted the breed with a ball of sticky yellow wizard’s fire that clung to them and burned even as they rolled and thrashed and tried to extinguish themselves. Vrot landed among them and dispatched a handful of breed with his claws while he disfigured half a score more with gouts of his potent acidy spew.

  A patrol of Jarrek’s Highwander men rode out from an outpost and tried to help them, but only managed to get killed and corroded themselves. Shaella missed only one of the sixty-four traitorous man-beasts, and she chased that one south until she was sure it wasn’t Bzorch. She decided to let it live so that the absconder might plant the seed of fear into everyone he told of what had happened. Her only mistake was that she assumed Bzorch was among the group of dissolving corpses her dragon had dispatched. Had she known that he wasn’t, she might have flown south and unleashed some more of her fury on King Jarrek’s encampment at Low Crossing. As it was, she assumed Vrot had killed the alpha breed and decided to save the destruction of Jarrek’s forces for another day. She was spell weary, tired and wet. Vrot had part of a spear hanging out of his flank. It pleased her that her young dragon hadn’t complained about the wound. She knew it pained him. When they returned to Lakeside Castle she would reward him with a fat geka to sate to himself on. Flick, or the priests, could remove the spear and heal the wound. No, she wouldn’t trust the priests with her dragon. Flick she would trust with her life. Either way, she would make sure that Vrot was comfortable, and that his loyalty was not forgotten. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Gerard was off fighting battles of his own in the Nethers. She had already decided that she wouldn’t call out to him again, not until she knew he was ready to emerge. Just thinking about it seemed to ruin her otherwise wonderful mood. She spent most of the flight back to her castle trying to get him out of her mind.

  The trap the red priests set for King Mikahl hadn’t been sprung. Shaella decided to worry about that after she’d had a bath and a meal. A few well chosen words of encouragement to the necromancers might rectify the situation. It seemed to her that Princess Rosa just wasn’t very good bait. Either that or the High King just didn’t care about her. At least she could use Rosa to halt Queen Rachel’s advance on Dakahn if she had to. The lives of Jarrek’s slaves, and revenge over Ra’Gren’s ambush couldn’t be worth her daughter’s life, could they? Shaella laughed, thinking that she just might find out very soon what Rosa was worth, and to whom. She would pay a visit to the Princess later as well. It never ceased to amaze her how weakness and fear poured out of the wretched girl when she confronted her. In the spirit of keeping the day’s mood aloft, she might just cut off another finger.

  ***

  Phen re-read the incantations of the spell for what seemed like the hundredth time. It wasn’t the type of spell that you could cast and then release later with a word, so he wanted to be sure he had it memorized. The chance to use it might present itself anytime, and he was determined to be prepared. He’d learned a lot from Pael’s texts. Mostly trivial knowledge that wouldn’t help him or the Princess, but the spell he was working to memorize now would throw off the Dragon Queen’s entire scheme if he could just get himself in the presence of the Silver Skull again and cast it, especially if he could cast the spell while the red priests were using the artifact.

  It turned out that the Silver Skull of Zorellin was really a skull that had been dipped in molten silver by a sorcerer named Zorellin. The birth name of whose skull it actually was, was also the key to the spell Phen found. Pael, or maybe Shaella, had written the name in the margin of the spell book. Now Phen knew it.

  He finished the review and almost closed the book. He shook his head and sighed. Better to go over it one more time, he told himself, and started reading again. A hurried scrabble of footfalls from overhead stopped him. It sounded like Rosa had stumbled and fallen over. Her tangled hair fell down into the rectangular hole above him and she looked at him with worried eyes.

  “Someone ees coming up, Pin,” she squealed. “Put the lemp eewt and hide.”

  “Aye,” he replied. “Move away, I’m coming up just in case.” With a wave of his hand he extinguished the lamp and started up. Once he was in the nest with her, he closed the hatch door and scrambled to get the ring from his necklace onto his finger.

  “Hurry,” Rosa whispered as the top of the lift came up into the room. Phen vanished just as Queen Shaella’s menacing smile cleared the floor.

  “Who are you talking to?” Shaella snapped. Her eyes darted around the room quickly. “Who’s here?” It wouldn’t
have surprised her if King Mikahl had managed to circumvent the priests’ trap. They had assured her that he was close at hand, and that it wasn’t possible, but she was smart enough to keep from underestimating Ironspike. She found her heart fluttering with the fear that Mikahl might be behind her and whirled around.

  “I was talking to you, Queen Shaella,” Princess Rosa answered sheepishly. “I’m so very hungry.” She began to cry, more from fear than anything, but the tears helped her be convincing. “You brought no food,” her sobbing grew deeper.

  “Stop it,” Shaella snapped. “I’ll have some food sent up when I’m through here.” She stepped from the lift and strode to one of the tall narrow arrow slits in the wall. Once they had served as releasing and arrival perches for Pael’s army of messenger birds. What I would give to know who half of his spies were, Shaella thought to herself. Even with all of his information, and his strength of will, he had failed, she reminded herself. His quest for power had ended on a battlefield in Xwarda when Mikahl took his head. She shook the thought away, and returned her attention to the Princess.

  “It seems that your High King may be coming for you after all,” Shaella smiled wickedly. “He hasn’t contacted you yet has he?” She studied the teary-eyed girl and decided that she looked too helpless to have had any good news. “It’s likely that he soon will. He might just fly his little fire pony up here and try to save you. He’ll be surprised to find that he’s expected.” Shaella started to pace around the circular room, forcing Phen to have to tiptoe out of her path. The swirl of air his movement caused made Shaella stop and stare at the space he had just been occupying for a long moment. A few heartbeats later she scrunched her nose at her paranoia and resumed her leisurely pace.

  Phen wished with all his heart that he still had the knife Hyden Hawk had given him. The wooden handle had been ruined in the fiery mishap on the Slither. He almost talked himself into casting a spell on Shaella, but he knew that she was far more powerful than he. She could probably turn the magic against him with a thought. With the dagger, though, he could have just thrust it through her heart. He’d killed before, and he was certain he could do it again. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying about King Mikahl, while wrestling with his murderous thoughts.